


Klemmata

by greygerbil



Category: Original Work
Genre: Fantasy, M/M, Mild Honour Bondage, Pseudo-Ancient Greece, Switching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-28 18:42:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20068750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greygerbil/pseuds/greygerbil
Summary: King Melanthios is well aware that Prince Hesperos has other intentions than pure love when he starts courting him, but it's difficult to resist him nonetheless.





	Klemmata

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tentacledicks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tentacledicks/gifts).

The return to the city was triumphant, but unlike in a war with a human enemy, there were no prisoners to display, only the dented and bruised army that had fought for the safety of the _polis_. It had been many decades now that anyone had been haughty enough to drag the revenants from the mountains into the cities of the living. That hubris had then been dearly paid for with many lives as the ostensibly beaten Forsaken tore through whole towns in their mindless rage and created more and more of their kind.

Ever since the magi of old had fought each other in devastating wars that razed the lands and left tens of thousands slain, their descendants had had to battle their undead soldiers and victims. The frantic use of magic in those old days had torn the veil between worlds so the dead kept rising, crawling out of burial mounds and the very dust of the earth itself. Who knew how many more centuries it would take to eradicate them once and for all? Every soldier the living lost in cursed, blood-stained earth and could not recover to burn added to the ranks of the others.

Melanthios had fought more battles than he could count and most of them against the dead. If any positive was to be gained from that, it was that the fight against the Forsaken proved enough reason for the living to think twice about raising their spears against each other. After all, none could ever say when dead would suddenly be at their city gates and risk leaving their troops with their backs turned on their own lands to conquer elsewhere.

There were still squabbles and skirmishes, of course, but Melanthios thought them plenty unnecessary. As king of the city of Elateia and with it all the lands of the western coast up to the mountains, he had as of late worked hard to strike up a feeble but honest pact with the old enemies in Kydonia of the northern plains to finally be able to set that worry aside. In the latest attack of the Forsaken, they had for the first time fought side by side to prove to each other that they meant their truce. Thus it was that, on his triumphant march through the streets towards the acropolis, he had in tow Prince Hesperos of Kydonia. The man’s right leg had been mauled by one of the skeletal war hounds and since Elateia was a great deal closer to the battlefield they had last fought on than Kydonia, a messenger had fetched them express permission from the king of Kydonia that his son could go with Melanthios to recover.

Would King Panthera have allowed such a risk if it had been his heir Nikanor, or the oldest daughter after that, Korinna? Melanthios doubted it, in truth. Hesperos was the last of seven strong men and women that Panthera had produced in his time, and while one of his home’s most renowned generals, he was on that cusp of being valuable enough that his presence in Elateia was a symbol, and disposable enough that his death could be risked. Indeed, the people of Kydonia called him Hesperos the Soldier, and it was as much compliment to his prowess and many successful campaigns as the implicit acknowledgement that his martial talents were more important than his royal blood.

Melanthios had let the man ride in the spot directly behind him in the parade to honour his position as a member of the Kydonian king’s family, anyway. Glancing back, he could see the injuries were taking their toll on him. They were all of them as they returned from the battlefield aching and tired, but Hesperos looked like he would soon drop out of his saddle for how pale his face was and how loosely his hands held on to the reins. Still, he kept his head high and his back straight and when he noticed Melanthios’ gaze, he raised an unsteady fist, bumping his silver chest plate over his heart and lowering his head in respect.

-

It was some time before Melanthios could visit his high-born guest. Travelling the streets went slow, of course, as people greeted their returned protectors. The _gerousia_, the council of elders, to whose advice all kings of Elateia had been bound since its inception, required a report from the battlefield of their king. Afterwards, he said goodbye to his generals, who trudged home to their families. Finally, he could wash himself and exchange his golden armour and the blue cloak with the emblem of the black shark, the symbol of Elateia, for a chiton. A servant cut the thick black curls of his beard, which had grown down to his chest, leaving only a few much more manageable inches.

Hesperos had been brought into a guest room of his house. Melanthious found him sitting against the wall by a wide window, looking out onto the sea stretching to the darkening horizon beyond. When he heard the rustle of the curtains that covered the door, however, he drew himself up to full height and attempted to get to his feet.

“My king,” he said.

“Sit,” Melanthios commanded, with a glance at his freshly bandaged leg. “How are you?”

“Much better. Your healers work very subtle magic. I’m sure with some rest it will soon be put right again.”

Hesperos was almost thirty now, Melanthios knew from his informants, a decade younger than himself. There were frown lines etched into his skin and the burning sun soldiers faced so often had done its work to add a few years, too, but his remaining youthfulness shone in his smile. He had many scars, most obvious the claw marks crossing his right cheek, just barely missing his eye, and a patch of burned skin running from his throat down over his left collar bone and shoulder. His face was always clean-shaven, making more prominent the sharp cheekbones and strong jaw. He kept his hair cut short, much like Melanthios himself, probably because it fit more easily under a helmet that way. His body was thick and sinewy with muscle, though his natural built was a little slighter and shorter than that of Melanthios, who thanks to his exertions on the battlefield had kept much of his power from younger years.

Melanthios thought Hesperos quite handsome, through and through soldier as he was. He also could not help but notice every time Hesperos looked at him that his eyes were such a light brown they had almost the colour of honey.

“You may rest here as long as you like,” Melanthios assured him. “Though I think your men were anxious to leave you behind with me.”

“The soldiers of Kydonia are proud and loyal,” Hesperos said with a nod. “Many still remember the wars my father fought with yours, or know them from their own parents’ tales, at any rate. But I have no such distrust.”

Melanthios found himself amused facing so much diplomacy. From what he’d seen of Hesperos so far, he was usually more direct. Then again, they had been on the battlefield, were niceties often had to make way. “How come?” he asked, almost teasing.

Hesperos did not let his tone shake him. “I have fought with you now for two months. I think there is no better way to get to know a person and you are without a doubt a very valiant leader, always at the front with his troops.”

“Some in my _gerousia_ have called me reckless,” Melanthios pointed out.

Hesperos shrugged.

“A soldier who never puts himself in danger of death isn’t much of a soldier.”

Melanthios smiled to himself. They bred them very stern and warlike up north, were Hesperos came from. A different tribe than the one that had originated Elateia had settled there after the Long Night that had followed the wars of the magi. As their patron they had chosen Oryx, the Great Huntress, bane of men and beast alike. It coloured much of how they viewed the world and their own place in it.

“How do you like this room? Some guests said it’s too noisy with the window looking out onto the haven.”

“I do not mind it. I have spent so much of my life in camps, I have trouble sleeping if I do not hear a bit of talking and shuffling,” Hesperos pointed out.

Melanthios nodded his head.

“I have the same problem when I return from the field, though from what I hear I have not spend as much time there as you, and I rarely get to say that.”

It seemed that Hesperos’ career had been decided early, from what his advisors had told him before they met up with him and his troops. All Kydonians took pride in their skill in battle of course, but he’d been prepared for this all his life and put in armour and on the field when he was still a boy.

“But you were successful when you went, Your Highness,” Hesperos gave back with another bow of his head. “You are praised even in Kydonia for your bravery in the fight against the Forsaken – and we don’t often praise foreign warlords,” he added with a mischievous smile.

Melanthios chuckled.

“That is good to know. I will leave you to rest now, Hesperos. You may call on any servant for your needs.”

“You are very gracious, Your Highness.”

On his way out, when Melanthios threw a furtive glance over his shoulder through a gap in the curtain which fell close behind him, he saw Hesperos quietly crumble, running a hand over his face. The injury seemed to have taken a lot out of him, but in front of a king, or perhaps anyone, a proud man like him would never show. Though Melanthios found him an easy presence to be around, he decided he would leave him alone as much as propriety allowed for now so that Hesperos had a chance to recuperate swiftly, without unnecessary exertions.

-

Hesperos did not play along with Melanthios’ well-meant plans. The very next day, he had already hauled himself out of his chambers with the help of a long, thick branch fashioned into a walking stick to join him in breaking fast. They sat around a low table on fat, feather-filled pillows, thick slabs of hard barley bread laid out next to ripe cheese, bowls of olives and figs, and sweet red wine. Though not particularly attached to many luxuries, he had missed this in the field, Melanthios would admit.

“It’s no problem to have the food delivered to your bedside,” he informed his guest, as he ripped off a chunk of his bread and dipped it into his wine cup.

“The wound is not so bad and I don’t want to risk getting rusty.”

“You Kydonians don’t know how to take a rest,” Melanthios said with a laugh.

“Resting is not how we conquered the Northern plain,” Hesperos answered haughtily. “Though if you would rather not be bothered so early in the morning, you only have to tell me.”

“Not at all, your presence is welcome.”

Not having any family, Melanthios usually took his meal in silence, unless he had visitors. It did not bother him, but a little diversion was nice, especially after he’d grown used to the bustle of a war camp.

“It bothers me to have to abuse your hospitality, but I’m glad to spend more time with you,” Hesperos said and popped an olive into his mouth. “And I have heard much of the beauty of Elateia.”

The second sentence seemed to Melanthios deliberately placed as an afterthought. He raised a brow.

“I would be glad to show you the city,” he answered. “Let us see if it has the kind of distractions a Kydonian man appreciates.”

“Oh,” Hesperos said, as he locked gazes with Melanthios, “I am already certain of that.”

-

Melanthios set out with his guest in the milder twilight hours. He made sure that the beauties of the city he did choose to present were accessible by horse, since Hesperos would surely have pretended he was fine to limp there with his stick whether it was true or not, should Melanthios have picked otherwise.

On the first evening, they visited the temple of the goddess of wisdom which sat on a hill at the eastern edge of the city, overlooking the sturdy city walls and miles of farm land and far-away mountains in one direction, and the many rooftops of the city and wide sea in the other. The stone statue of the goddess, as tall as ten men, was brightly painted like the pillars of the temple behind her.

“Ametha Ithaia has watched over Elateia since times out of memory,” Melanthios told Hesperos, slowing his horse to a trot.

“I have never heard that byname anywhere else but here – Ithaia. What cult do your people practice?” Hesperos asked.

“She is the protector of the city. It was her that laid the first stones of the _agora_, drawing tradesmen and artists and scholars. Ithaia was the name she used when she introduced herself to the first settlers. The dialect is not spoken now, but it meant ‘older sister’ to those people of old.”

“So the mage kings already venerated her?” Hesperos asked.

“Yes, as Ithaia. Though obviously they failed to heed her teachings,” Melanthios said sternly. “When our people brought the wisdom of Ametha as they came from the east, they recognised the goddess had arrived here long before them, and so Ametha Ithaia is the name they chose.”

As they passed the statue on the hill, Hesperos piously bowed towards it. Melanthios did the same.

“I hear Ametha is far from being the patron deity of Kydonia...”

Hesperos laughed. “You doubt our wisdom?”

“Your battle prowess is undeniable and your strategies are clever, but I admit I have wondered if the Great Huntress would not disquiet me as leading goddess,” Melanthios said. “In this city, people tell stories of Oryx riding with the host of the Forsaken.”

“She has done so in the past and sometimes does now,” Hesperos said with a nod. “But not if we do not give her a reason to. The Wild One comes to the side of the strongest, most honourable, most determined warriors, be they alive or dead – for those dead people did once fight for a cause, too. Because of that, we must always work hard to keep her good will. It keeps us sharp and ready.”

“And you are happy to live with such unsteady favour?”

“Of course. It is she who has to forgive our weakness. We must prove worthy in all or face the consequences.”

Melanthios gave a small shake of his head. Undeniably it bred strong warriors, but he wondered if he could have been happy with constant fear whispering in his ear. Ametha Ithaia only abandoned those who wholly threw her tenets to the wind. She always fought with her soldiers if they were honest and good of heart instead of switching to the strongest army.

“I can see now why your men and women are said to be made with hearts of iron. You would need them.”

Hesperos grinned.

“It’s true. But even iron melts under fire. Great things – or people – can still stir us,” he said, looking only briefly at the statue before glancing at Melanthios from the corner of his eyes.

“And evidently fighting is not your only skill. You’re not unpractised in the arts of flattery, either,” Melanthios answered.

“Nor easily moved to it. Only where it’s appropriate,” Hesperos retorted.

Melanthios pushed his heels into his horse’s side and couldn’t suppress a smile.

“Would you like to see the theatre? There will be a play in a couple of days to honour the return of the soldiers.”

“I’ve heard your plays are very good.”

“They are – most, anyway. How are Kydonian plays?”

Hesperos shook his head.

“We don’t have any. Our poets write battle hymns and feastday songs. Music and dance are more common. We mostly see theatre from wandering troupes.”

“You’re allowed to say if it doesn’t interest you. I would not wish you to bother with something you think silly,” Melanthios said good-naturedly.

He’d guessed that perhaps Hesperos would not be quite so eager for such entertainment. In times of war, the Kydonians had often been painted by Elateia as barbarians lacking all culture and refinement. However, when they had camped together on the battlefield, Melanthios had watched the warriors of Kydonia sing and dance in the evenings, seen how intricate their performances were, how well-trained and beautiful their choirs. They had different customs, but he’d found them fascinating. That did not mean that Hesperos had to have as much interest in the fruits of his city’s intellectual labour, though.

“Not at all. But I may need someone to explain the way your theatre works to me. Perhaps I could sit by your side? Unless someone else has the honour,” Hesperos answered.

“You will remain with me, of course.”

-

And remain with him Hesperos did, not only for the play, which he watched with stern concentration, but also for his breakfast and suppers, and all other activities Melanthios chose for them, none of which Hesperos ever greeted with anything less than great enthusiasm.

During the days, when Melanthios was busy, Hesperos would go to the practice grounds, though he was not far enough healed yet to participate. Here, he would help the educators train young soldiers, who were most in mildly terrified awe of the warrior devoted to Oryx standing among them. He was also always in the audience whenever Melanthios, who tried to keep fit for the battlefield, joined his older soldiers for a wrestling competition or sparring match. His compliments then were not mindless, but still copious. He would never praise Melanthios when his hand slipped on a spear’s shaft or he stumbled ungracefully out of the way of an attack, but Hesperos’ cheers and admiration would be sure to him when he did land a good blow. It was, if Melanthios was honest, likely a reason that he found himself trying a little harder than usual. He liked to think himself reasonable, but looking into the bright face of such a handsome, pleasant man when he put someone into the dust, Hesperos’ attention only on him, was hard for anyone’s pride to ignore.

After he had showed him the fields and their fortifications against the Forsaken, the temples dotted around the city, the busy haven, and several more plays, Melanthios decided to take his companion to a public debate at the Lyceum. They sat in the shadow of a small grove of trees as the philosophers took to the plaza before the white-washed walls of the main hall. Their students, who sat all around them, whispered as their teachers prepared themselves.

“What are they going to do?” Hesperos asked, looking at the crowd.

“They are going to debate the importance of rhetoric in the law.”

“They’ll speak about the importance of good speaking?” Hesperos asked, raising a brow.

“It does seem like the debate as such will factor into the result more than usual,” Melanthios answered with a smile.

Hesperos had valiantly sat through even some of the more plodding tragedies the Elateian canon had to offer, patiently let priests and priestesses give him long venerating speeches about Ametha Ithia at the temples, and shown great interest when the builders of the field fortifications presented the two of them extensive technical reports of the repairs and reinforcements they thought necessary. This, however, was the first time that it seemed difficult for Hesperos to even pretend what he was seeing stirred any sort of emotion other than deep boredom and perhaps beginning irritation as the two philosophers debated the finer points of rhetoric education as they pertained to the formal _apologia_, the defence before the judges. If the Elantians had called the Kydonians barbarians without culture during the war and often even after, Melanthios knew that the Kydonians had considered them garrulous air-heads with no sense for the practical. From the way Hesperos looked whenever he didn’t notice Melanthios’ gaze on him, these old prejudices were probably crowding his mind at the moment.

“What did you think of Hypatia’s arguments concerning the principle of non-contradiction? I think she was very convincing,” Melanthios said, barely unable to bite down on his smile, as the debate had come to an end after the better part of two hours and the students swarmed their teachers to try their hands at debating them or at least to ingratiate themselves with compliments.

“Uh,” Hesperos made, looking for all the world like a boy caught stealing honey off the kitchen shelves, “Yes, though... people believe in two things that can’t be true at the same time rather often, don’t they? It’s not logical, but it happens a lot.”

The answer was actually not too bad, Melanthios thought, amused and impressed with his companion at once.

“But it wouldn’t make for a very good defence in a trial to admit that you did,” he argued. “Usually, people know they are being unreasonable.”

“No, I suppose not,” Hesperos muttered.

“Of course, when one leans heavily on non-contradiction, one has to make sure not to be drawn into elenctic refutation. You may destroy your whole original proposal that way, as Phokas pointed out rightly.”

Hesperos barked a laugh. “I yield!” he said, holding his hands up. “I don’t know how you can both be as good a warrior as you are and have learned to follow conversations like this, but I am much too foolish for it.”

“Oh, you didn’t do so badly. I’ve had guests fall asleep on me in the Lyceum,” Melanthios answered dryly.

“Was this a test?” Hesperos asked, bemused.

“No, we do value these meetings for diversion and elucidation. But I understand that there are some topics which are hard to follow if you haven’t been made to study them since you were a child,” he admitted, now smiling.

“Well, I’ll be – happy to come with you again and learn more,” Hesperos said. It was almost believable.

“Gladly, but perhaps you would rather watch a chariot race with me tomorrow?” Melanthios suggested.

The way Hesperos’ face lit up told Melanthios that the proposal was very welcome indeed, but what he answered was: “Whichever it is you wish, my king.”

They rose from their seats and wandered the tree-studded path beside the Lyceum.

“We do have public contests in Kydonia, too,” Hesperos said, casually. “But they are for athletic shows and war dances. That’s why they are usually performed without clothes, so you can admire how rigid training has formed the bodies of the contestants. This year, I won the spear throw.”

If the goal of that comment had been to put the enticing image of Hesperos naked into Melanthios’ mind, it had worked. He supposed it was probably well-deserved revenge for what Melanthios had done to him today.

-

It did not take a scholar to figure out what Hesperos’ intentions were, considering he had only good things to say about Melanthios, spent every free minute with him proving eagerly how diverting his company could be, and, when Melanthios had no time, mostly hung around the educators to help them train the young girls and boys, showcasing how good he was at producing strong soldiers, the kind a king might wish to have as young elites or even his own heirs.

Melanthios wondered if Hesperos was here on his father’s behalf or if the idea had grown spontaneously out of the chance his wound had provided him with. Either way he was likely not doing it against his own will. Hesperos was too far down the line of succession to inherit much at all, and probably felt crowded out of any real position from which to exert power or even collect glory by his siblings, none of whom would be happy to let another star shine too brightly. If he’d manage to snatch the hand of a king, however, Hesperos would escape their shadow and stand elevated. True, their nations used to be at war, but that had been a few years ago now, and so he could entertain some hopes that their recent joint military efforts might tempt Melanthios to consider a Kydonian suitor.

Melanthios did not begrudge him this. Had he been in Hesperos’ position, he may have acted no different. Besides, he liked him. The blunt way in which the Kydoanian flirted was amusing and he was actually quite helpful on the training grounds, if stricter than what the children were used to from Elateian educators. He also had to admit that his house felt livelier since Hesperos was here and he very much enjoyed having a companion who was happy to accompany him wherever he liked to go, or simply for quiet moments at home. Melanthios had spent so much time fighting and ruling that he hadn’t even had time to notice how much he had missed this sort of contact until Hesperos came and presented the option to him.

One night, Hesperos sat up with Melanthios, who sought refuge in a little too much wine after a long day of meetings with the _gerousia_ and the public assembly. They were necessary for proper rule, but that made them no less tiring. Hesperos entertained him with some simple tales from the battlefield, carrying the majority of the conversation as he sat sprawled on the pillows by Melanthios’ side. Hesperos always wore his armour even in Melanthios’ house, since, as he’d explained, this was what Kydonians considered formal wear. His leather battle skirt had slipped up his thick thighs, barely covering his underclothes anymore.

“You look tired, my king,” Hesperos noted.

Melanthios quickly lifted his wandering eyes back to Hesperos’ face.

“I am, but my head is always full after such a day. I’d get no sleep.”

“I could try to help you relax,” Hesperos offered, taking another sip of his wine.

“You are,” Melanthios pointed out. It was nice to sit here and listen to him talk without giving much input but the occasional nod and hum. “What else do you have in mind?”

His companion placed the goblet down on the table and sat up, slowly lowering his hand on Melanthios’ leg. His bright eyes, which, in the firelight of the torches, had the same vivid colour as the gleaming golden goblets, searched Melanthios’ face. Melanthios knew what he was asking and he knew he could stop it with a stern gaze.

Instead, he found himself drawn to look at the curve of his lips, the strong cut of his jar, his broad shoulders and long legs. He gave him a nod.

Hesperos’ mouth pulled into a grin. He shifted over Melanthios’ stretched leg and leaned in to place a kiss on his neck. It was soft enough not to leave a mark, but the touch still sent a shiver down his spine. How long had it been? Years now. He’d lost himself so in the sea of politics and war that keeping a lover seemed only like another cumbersome task. But Hesperos never needed more time than Melanthios had to give and was always here to take what little he could offer and leave Melanthios refreshed to face other, drearier parts of his day. Of course, he’d fashioned that perfection to seduce him, Melanthios reminded himself. Who knew what he thought underneath it all?

For now, Hesperos made a very convincing show out of wanting to be here, though. His hands ran up under the dark fabric of Melanthios’ chiton, brushing it away from his lap as he dragged his mouth down to his shoulder. After playing along the trail of dark hair on Melanthios’ hard stomach, his fingers dipped down and below his underclothes, taking out his cock.

Melanthios grabbed the back of Hesperos’ head and pulled him into a kiss. The moment he tasted him, he realised he’d wanted to do this for a while. Hesperos opened his lips eagerly for him as his calloused hand stroked him firmly.

“Sit back, my king,” Hesperos said quietly against his mouth, after swiping his tongue over his bottom lip.

Doing as he was asked, Melanthios watched Hesperos slide back on his knees and lean down over his lap. For a moment, he just looked at his cock, which was now fully hard. The size was average enough, but it was rather unusually thick and Hesperos smiled as he fit his long fingers around it.

“The sea air must help Elateians grow,” he jeered before flicking his tongue across the head of Melanthios’ cock. “I bet it feels good to be speared by this…”

It was not quite usual for Elateian men to get so crass – or, more likely, Melanthios considered, they just did not do so before the king. He wished now they were less careful with their words because the way Hesperos spoke paired with the fire-eyed look he was giving him had his cock jump in Hesperos’ hand.

“Maybe I’ll find out sometime,” Hesperos said, certainly reading in Melanthios’ expression his words were not unwelcome. “But now I want to know what your seed tastes like.”

With that announcement, he dipped his head and wrapped his lips around Melanthios’ cock, then pushed down. Melanthios instinctively tried to pull back as he felt himself hit the soft back of his throat, despite how sweet the warm, yielding flesh felt, but Hesperos fixed him with a strong hand on his hip and lowered his head even further. Melanthios could feel himself slip into the tight squeeze of his throat.

His head fell back against the wall as he gave a low groan. Hesperos did not rest until he had taken him in to the base, nose buried in Melanthios’ short dark curls. One hand dug into the muscular meat of his thigh, the other was busy massaging his balls. His tongue snaked around the base of Melanthios’ cock as he gave quick movements of his head.

It did not take long at all for Hesperos’ to get his wish. Melanthios was so surprised by the sudden strength of his desire that he didn’t even have time to warn him, but Hesperos took it in stride, swallowing all.

“You taste sweet. Must be because of the good wine you have here,” he said, grinning as he licked his lips.

Melanthios ran a hand through his hair and gave a breathless chuckle.

“You really know how to treat a man, Hesperos.”

“You have barely seen me try,” Hesperos answered, hands lingering on Melanthios’ knees. “Perhaps when you have had the chance to rest, I can show you more.”

He pushed himself up, straightening his skirt, and smiled like a cat.

-

“I heard you have a lover now.”

“If you believed my guards and servants, I’ve had one lover or another for the last fifteen years.”

It came with being unmarried, of course. People looked for a reason and since Melanthios was not eager to complain of the strain of his work or speak of the amorous disappointments of his younger days that had long kept him lonely except for some few meaningless dalliances, they imagined great numbers of low-born, married, or otherwise scandalous affairs for him.

Lydos, a friend of his since the days that they had learned to write under the same teacher and one of his city’s chief administrators, raised a brow at him.

“Well, I may not have much time these days to come to you outside of work, but even I have noticed your Kydonian guest seems uncommonly attached to you – especially for one of their coarse sort.”

“They aren't all so bad,” Melanthios noted.

“Evidently not!”

Melanthios rolled his eyes at his tone and reclined further into his stone seat overlooking the plaza. It was the time of the shortest night of the year and the celebration was ongoing, with people feasting, drinking, and dancing to the tunes of pan flutes, lyres, and singing voices. The air was still warm from the hot day.

“What would you like to hear?” he asked. “He offered. I had no reason to reject him.”

Hesperos had been with him almost every night (and some days) for the last couple of weeks, never less impressive than the first time. He’d ridden Melanthios resplendent in armour as Melanthios lifted the leather skirt for a better view, and he’d fucked him until Melanthios saw stars, he’d put his tongue inside him, he’d sucked him off in his study and his bed and at the breakfast table. He came up with positions Melanthios had never even thought of and he was always on him, never allowing Melanthios to lift a finger for both their pleasure if Hesperos could do it for him.

“You know why he is doing it, of course?”

“You must think me very naïve to ask that question, Lydos.”

And yet, Melanthios sounded defensive to his own ears. Why? Lydos was not wrong. But he had enjoyed more than just the carnal about his closeness with Hesperos. The man’s words and presence had no lesser hold on him. He liked his mouth on him, but he just as much enjoyed his words and his smile.

_I’ve fallen for him_, Melanthios realised, heart lurching briefly into his throat.

The thought was uncomfortable. Had he really bowed to the designs of his Kydonian guest? But he pushed the instinctive, prideful resistance away for a moment. After all, was it actually so terrible to give in? Hesperos’ charms were hardly the result of genuine adoration, of course, but Melanthios had seen enough of him on the battlefield to know that they were not all Hesperos had to offer. He was a brave soldier, well-respected by his men, who did not shy away from a fight, yet never wasted lives foolishly. His conduct around Melanthios’ court had been good even when Melanthios wasn’t around to witness him. From asking around, he’d found that Hesperos had befriended the guards, and the educators of the young soldiers almost counted him among their ranks. He doubted that all of Hesperos’ numerous qualities would vanish with a proposal, even if his focused attention to Melanthios might subside a little into comfortable gratitude. He’d still be a quick-minded companion who Melanthios could respect and a talented general for his army and it would strengthen the connection to Kydonia to marry one of their princes. There were much worse matches to make.

“Your guest is not using the walking stick anymore,” Lydos said, elbowing him. Hesperos was walking towards them through the crowd, carrying figs and cuts of meat for Melanthios. “He won’t have an excuse to stay at your house for much longer.”

Lydos was not wrong about that. Melanthios smiled as Hesperos sat the plate down beside them and threw an interested glance at Lydos before bowing his head and sitting in the other free spot by Melanthios’ side.

It was only fair to Hesperos that he would make a decision soon. However, he had a feeling he’d already done so the first time he’d allowed Hesperos to kiss him.

-

Owing to the still strained situation between Elateia and Kydonia, the letter to Hesperos’ father had to come first. Knowing that the men of the north prized functional over beautiful language, he restricted himself to what needed to be said: that their recent efforts against the Forsaken had taught him that working together was beneficial, that Panthera’s son had impressed him on the battlefield and been a helpful and pleasant guest to have, and that he wished to deepen the connection between the _poleis_ by making him his husband, for he could be reasonably sure of Hesperos’ good regard.

The letter he had sent with a messenger on horseback came back positive; Panthera of Kydonia agreed to the union between him and Hesperos, but also offered the hand of one of his older sons, Drakon. He was the third in line, if Melanthios was correct, and recently widowed. According to Panthera, he was stronger than Hesperos, old enough to have proved himself in the role of polemarch, which in Kydonia could only be taken up after the age of thirty, and better liked by the people.

Melanthios declined Drakon’s hand politely and gave that letter to his messenger, too, before he had Hesperos called to his study.

“We don’t meet here often,” Hesperos noted as he sat down on a wooden chair.

“I need to keep my focus here. You often take it,” Melanthios said with a smile.

Hesperos laughed. “I could help,” he claimed. “But I doubt you would like me looking through Elateian state matters.”

“Perhaps they will soon be of greater interest to you,” Melanthios answered. “I have a proposition to make.”

Hesperos lifted his chin, his face carefully blank. “Yes?” he asked attentively.

“I would like you to be my husband.”

He’d expected to see triumph in Hesperos’ face, but it was mostly relief.

“I would not hesitate a moment to agree,” he said, “but I need to ask my father.”

“Are you worried he won’t be in favour?” Melanthios asked. It would have been fair to tell Hesperos he had already gotten Panthera’s blessing, but he had to admit the answer he had been sent by the old king had surprised him. It was uncommon for a father to so bluntly try to redirect a suitor’s interest after one child had already secured it, as Melanthios had hinted at strongly enough in his letter.

“You are a king of a great country,” Hesperos said hesitantly.

“And you are a prince of one,” Melanthios gave back.

“One of them,” Hesperos agreed. “I think my father might wish that if you married a child of his, it would be one of my siblings instead. They would make good spouses to a king. He might make you that offer.”

Perhaps it shouldn’t surprise Melanthios how accurately Hesperos had predicted the answer he had in fact gotten. It came from the household he belonged to, after all.

“You know your father well,” he said, though it seemed almost cruel to do so. Lying about something that Hesperos already knew in his heart was pointless, however. “He did offer me Prince Drakon. But he says I can marry you as well if that’s my choice.”

To his great confusion, Hesperos just stared at him expectantly, one hand tight around the arm of the chair. Hesperos was a proud man and a self-confident one. Melanthios had already made him an offer. Did he still worry it would be snatched away?

“There is no choice, of course,” he said slowly. “You will be my husband.”

Hesperos stood to draw him into a crushing kiss. Melanthios allowed himself to think for a moment that the affection was for him, not just for the position he offered.

-

They were married under the eyes of Ametha Ithaia and the citizens of Eliteia. Hesperos wore golden armour with a mantle showing the blood-red spear of Kydonia on dun yellow ground and smiled at Melanthios as bright as the sun, keeping his attention on him all evening as if he barely registered the guests Melanthios had invited into his house beyond what propriety required. There was a giddy warmth burning in Melanthios’ chest when, late at night, Hesperos drew him into his bedchamber.

“Let’s have our first time, my king,” he said, raising a brow. “Aren’t you excited?”

“I’ll be gentle with my virgin groom,” Melanthios answered, reaching around him to switch open the clasp of the mantle as Hesperos laughed. He took Melanthios by the elbow and pushed him gently down on the bed.

“Now that I can finally call you _my_ king in earnest, I will serve you as you deserve,” Hesperos said with a toothy grin. “Will you let me?”

“You have rarely led me astray,” Melanthios answered.

Hesperos always honoured that trust and tonight was no different. He took Melanthios’ cock in his mouth and, with the help of his tongue that was quick as a serpent’s, had him at the edge of control and over it when he encouraged him with guiding hands to fuck his mouth as roughly as he wanted as Melanthios’ fingers grasped helplessly at his short hair. When he had driven him to his first peak, he moved his head and opened Melanthios up with his tongue, slowly, almost playfully. It occurred to Melanthios that the man had perfectly measured the time now it took him to get excited again, for the moment when the heat started to collect at the base of his spine was barely seconds from when Hesperos pressed his first finger inside him, eased by spit and some of the olive oil Melanthios kept by his bedside for this purpose. Melanthios almost wished he hadn’t bothered, for he saw Hesperos’ cock hanging stiff and heavy between his legs, but as usual, Hesperos ignored it, much more interested in driving Melanthios insane with the practiced ease with which he found every spot inside him that had his toes curl.

“Don’t you ever get impatient?” he asked breathlessly, reaching down to brush his thumb across Hesperos’ lips. “You can take your own pleasure if you wish.”

Hesperos nipped his fingertip and smiled.

“I know what I have to look forward to.”

By the time he finally sat between Melanthios’ legs, Melanthios had been a second and another twist of his fingers away from throwing Hesperos on his back and taking what he wanted. Luckily, Hesperos did not tarry now. With Melanthios’ legs wrapped tightly around his hips, he drove into him, hands planted to both sides of Melanthios’ head giving him good purchase. The frame of the bed rocked across the stone with the strength of his thrusts and Melanthios came when Hesperos had barely done more than brush his hand over his cock, groaning his name. He listened to Hesperos panting as he brought himself to his peak inside him, ran his hand over Hesperos’ sweat-slick neck and chest, pulled him into a kiss, his warm breath on his face.

After a few slow kisses, Hesperos stretched out beside him, languidly spreading out over the covers, chest still rising and falling quickly. He was beautiful and his smile looked true as Melanthios raised a hand and caressed his jaw and that was enough to be happy for now. His husband had worked hard to make Melanthios love him – perhaps over the time they had now Melanthios could return the favour.

-

Hesperos was not slacking yet, despite the fact that he had reached his goal, a fact Melanthios had reported to Lydos with just a hint of smugness. He was still not young and innocent enough to believe that this wedding had been the result of true love; but it only made him like his husband better that he was honourable enough to keep trying to strengthen their connection even if Melanthios was now bound to him forever regardless. This meant he got to enjoy Hesperos’ efforts at night and had his attention during the day whenever he wished it, just as he was used to. When Melanthios was otherwise occupied, Hesperos joined the educators in training the children for warfare or went to the barracks to get to know every soldier he could get his hands on, as well as the generals and polemarchs. Melanthios was happy to find him now speaking of his own day sometimes during supper, which he had hardly before, though Hesperos still always let Melanthios choose the direction of their conversations.

Undisturbed married bliss did not last longer than two weeks at best. Then, a report came in from the northern fields that Forsaken were moving out of the mountains. They were not many, the bedraggled messenger told him, but well-armed, and a crumbling part of the fortifications had let them through into the fields. The peasants were already fleeing towards the city.

“I’ll go myself,” Melanthios decided, when he had finished listening, brows drawn. “Go tell a guard to run to the barracks. They need to ready a troop of thirty men bound for the northern gate. I will meet them there. After that, go to the kitchen and fetch yourself some water and food.”

The dust-covered messenger nodded with some gratitude before stumbling out of the room. Melanthios heard him speaking to someone in the hallway, likely one of the men posted there.

“This would not have happened if I had taken care to start rebuilding the fortifications earlier this summer, but the battlefields towards the east kept my attention,” he told Hesperos, who stood by his side in the spacious entrance hall where Melanthios welcomed guests outside of audience hours. “Will you come? It might be interesting. You have never fought as the sole stranger among Elateians before.”

Hesperos gave a nod.

“Much of our tactics are the same, but not all. A small skirmish such as this should be a good chance to get me used to your strategies.”

“Then go get your armour.”

-

They sped on horses down the road, dust and dirt flying in all directions under their hooves. The two hour’s ride could be done mostly in a gallop if the horses got to rest afterwards, and they would not use them in the fight against the Forsaken. Animals never did well around them, as they left even the most aggressive dogs whimpering and experienced war horses shying away at their very sight. Usually they just ended up fresh meat and blood to sustain the unholy powers of their enemies.

Evening was falling by the time they arrived, but they could see the Forsaken in the fields as clear as men carrying torches. Their skulls were alight with poison-green fire that poured out of their empty eye sockets and nostrils, between their broken teeth, through the cracks in the bone. In the last rays of the evening sun, Melanthios saw the slaughter they had made of a small herd of goats.

Melanthios let the horses advance as far as he dared, which was only into the village on the hill which overlooked the fields, where he commanded his soldiers to tie their animals down so they couldn’t bolt.

“There’ll be no point in a phalanx,” Hesperos said, looking out over the fields and pastures. “The terrain is rough and they have their beasts with them.”

Melanthios nodded. The small hills the fields were scattered over would slow the hoplite lines down. Besides, one of those dogs, usually the size of a small cow, with bestial instincts absolutely unshackled from fear since they were already dead, could break through even the most ordered arrangement of soldiers, for these creatues would gladly give their life just to turn the bones in a man’s wrist to pieces in their jaws.

“Take the smaller shields,” Melanthios said over his shoulder. There was no point in lugging around the fifteen pound _aspides_, which were used to cover yourself and the soldier next to you, when they could not make use of them. “We’ll advance together and stay in groups after we break apart. Watch each other’s backs, think on your feet.”

The Forsaken, their skeletal bodies spattered in still-warm blood, stood and watched them as they advanced, deadly still. They did not scream and their dogs didn’t growl. Next to him, Hesperos stumbled on the rocky, steeply descending path, and the sharp clicking of the stones he kicked up made several soldiers behind them wince.

Melanthios had always hated the silence before battles with the dead. He took a deep breath and roared: “Charge!”

They ran the last bit of the way and now some life came into their enemies. Melanthios splintered the skull of an approaching beast with a forward thrust of his spear, averting a blow of his paw with his shield, and as the staggering remains toppled, he kicked them into the dust, bones crunching under the soles of his sandals. The light in the remains of the creature’s skull faded.

His men had fanned out across the pasture to take several battles at once. He still had a couple of soldiers at his side, but Hesperos had fallen behind him in the approach. He spun to see where he was and found him standing with three others over a fallen beast, smashing its ribcage with his shield. To his surprise, he then jumped away from the group who were easily overpowering the beast’s handler, heading straight across the field towards a Forsaken lord in heavy, rust-stained armour still showing the coat of arms of a long-dead lineage. What in the name of all the gods was he doing? He’d heard the orders like everyone else and Kydonians were not known for breaking rank.

Melanthios turned to join him in the fight, but the trajectory of his group was blocked by two skeleton soldiers in their way. As he evaded the blow of a sword, he saw Hesperos dancing around the lord, who was wielding a war hammer with the untiring might of those who were not bound by human limits. Hesperos evaded leaning hard right – and suddenly his leg gave away and he landed on his side.

Melanthios screamed his name through the din of armour and weapons clashing when the Forsaken lord brought down his hammer on the ankle of the foot that had failed him. Hesperos’ yell of pain was cut short when the lord quickly tore his arm around as well, his metal vambrace colliding with Hesperos’ head with all the force of a hurled brick.

The lord leaned over Hesperos’ prone body to finish him off. However, Hesperos grabbed his fallen spear and hurled himself and it upwards, pushing it through the lord’s throat into his head, and, throwing the weight of his whole body behind it, he wrenched the spear sideways. The lord toppled, the hammer dropping from his hands as the light illuminating his skull began to flicker, and Hesperos climbed over him with the fierce anger of a wounded animal, beating his face with the edge of his shield until it burst into bone shards. Only when the light had gone out entirely did he collapse onto the skeletal form, clutching at his leg.

With all his willpower and his heart thundering in his chest, Melanthios turned his attention away. There were no more Forsaken in the corner of the pasture were Hesperos had fought and a couple of groups of soldiers who could protect him should anything turn his way. There was a battle to win.

The removal of the lord had turned the tide. The Forsaken had no morale to destroy, unlike human troops, but when you cut off the head, their focus did waver. Their leaders seemed imbued with special power to draw them together and while each soldier and beast on their own was dangerous, they could be dispatched more easily when they did not have a beacon to follow.

Melanthios worked methodically through the remaining creatures, commanding his soldiers with clipped orders as he did so. A beast found the elbow of one warrior, another soldier’s thigh was speared by a sword, but those were all the wounded he had to record this night when the battle was over, save of course for his husband.

“Athrax,” he said, pointing at one man, “you bandage the wounds as best you can to stifle the blood flow, the healers in town will do it properly. The rest of you, pile the bones and burn them – in the road, not on the fields. They have done enough damage to these peasants. Korinna,” he turned to his general, “take a couple of people and walk the perimeter. If there are no more Forsaken, I will bring the wounded back to town. You keep watch here just in case.”

“Yes, my king,” she said, waving at two men standing over a fallen beast.

Finally, Melanthios could afford to turn back to his husband. He was struggling to stand at the moment, having rammed his spear into the ground to help himself up. As he caught Melanthios’ gaze, he dropped his own.

“Hesperos...”

“I’m fine,” he gasped. “I’ll be fine.”

Melanthios closed the distance. Hesperos’ pupils were not quite the same size. The vambrace must have caught him hard. His ankle was a swollen, red mess, almost certainly broken.

“Sit,” he ordered.

Hesperos bared his teeth at him, but at a harsh gaze from Melanthios, he relented and fell down next to the skeleton again.

“What were you doing?” Melanthios asked quietly. “I gave an order.”

Hesperos didn’t answer, but instead touched his forehead briefly and then bowed over to empty his stomach into the grass. Melanthios decided the conversation would have to be had later, when he was sure Hesperos’ head had not taken significant damage. Nervously, he gathered an armful of bones and carried it over to the pile on the muddy road to occupy himself as he waited for Korinna to return.

“We haven’t seen anything, my king,” she said, as she marched back towards him. “It should be safe for you to leave.”

“Good. Keep these two here and take another, so someone can ride back in case you need reinforcements.”

Melanthios turned to see how the other wounded were doing. Athrax had procured bandages from the saddle bags of their horses and stifled the worst of the bleeding with them. It wouldn’t be a fun ride home, but both of them were standing, unlike Hesperos, who was kneeling in the grass beside his own sick doing his best no to look miserable.

Despite his confusion and anger about his husband deciding to against his orders, Melanthios felt worry twist his stomach. He walked over and touched his shoulder.

“Can you ride? Otherwise, I’ll put you up in a hut and send a healer out to you.”

“It’s fine. Oryx damn me if I can’t sit on a horse,” Hesperos muttered.

This time, he did manage to pull himself up and stand on his remaining foot. Melanthios frowned at his obstinacy, but in truth, he would rather have him in the city than here in the village. He grabbed his spear, tearing it from the ground, and wrapped his arm around Hesperos’ ribcage, allowing Hesperos to put an arm around his shoulders and cling to him as Melanthios pulled him towards the horses that some helpful mind had brought down the hillside.

“You’re riding with me,” Melanthios ordered.

Hesperos didn’t argue.

Melanthios went on horseback first and awkwardly pulled Hesperos in front of him, wincing in sympathy as Hesperos’ broken ankle dragged over the animal’s neck as he brought his leg to the other side. The rest of the soldiers had mounted their horses already and so Melanthios reached past Hesperos for the reins and set them on the path homewards.

-

The city was visible from far off in the darkness as they rode, its windows lit, much brighter than the cloud-covered sliver of a moon in the sky. Melanthios released the two wounded soldiers at the barracks, where healers resided, but since Hesperos was still conscious and sitting more or less upright, he decided to bring him straight to his house, where he sent a servant to fetch the healer that lived just down the street.

She arrived in time for Hesperos to have stretched out on a bench in a guest bedroom. Melanthios left him to her to go wash the dust and bone splinters off and put on a chiton, mostly things to do to keep his mind off Hesperos. Even with a good healer, head wounds could take down the strongest man if the blow came from a bad angle. It could have broken his neck had he been unlucky; he may have been dead before Melanthios had a chance to call his name. And for what? In the months they had fought side by side, Hesperos had never revealed himself to be a glory hound. Perhaps he had felt himself forced to prove to the soldiers of Elateia that he was worthy of fighting by their side? But he was not such a young, green beginner that he would do it in such a reckless manner.

The healer found him in his study. Melanthios tried his best not to let his concern show overmuch, but her smile told him that he might be failing.

“Your husband will be alright, my king. He needs rest in a dark room for his head. I bound his foot with a talisman and cast a spell, but he must stay in bed for a week at least and not put pressure on his foot so the bones can grow right again.”

Healing magic was the only sort still allowed in the age after the magi and Melanthios was very glad for it now.

“I’ll make certain he keeps to your advice,” he said gravely. “Can I see him?”

“He was awake when I left.” She sighed. “His foot may take a while to get really right again, what with the torn muscles he still had, though.”

“The old injury wasn’t healed properly?” Melanthios asked.

“No, my king.”

“How strange he didn’t notice.”

“Oh, he did. He told me he knew,” the healer said.

Melanthios walked across the inner courtyard to the guest room in thoughtful silence. He opened the door to find Hesperos still on his back, wearing only his leather skirt, with a damp cloth on his forehead and a brass bowl of water by his side. He opened his eyes when Melanthios entered. A bruise was blooming from his left temple down to his jaw.

“You knew something wasn’t right before you fell.”

Hesperos frowned at him, lips pressed into a thin line. He would take that as a _yes_, Melanthios decided. He walked the thought further.

“You had no reason to separate from your group as you did,” he said slowly. “It was a stupid thing to do and you’re not stupid. You knew you would be a weak link, so you struck out on your own so you would only endanger yourself in a fight.”

The way Hesperos averted his gaze told him he was right.

“Why didn’t you just say something?”

“I only noticed how bad my leg was when we’d ridden for a good while. I did not strain myself like that in the city.”

“Then you should have spoken to me before we went into the fight.”

“I overestimated myself,” Hesperos said shortly. “I apologise, my king. You can discipline me as you see fit.”

Something in Hesperos’ tone and the way he refused to meet his eyes seemed strange. He’d expected a man like that not to duck away from his failures.

Perhaps he was simply embarrassed. Melanthios considered pressing the point, but Hesperos had admitted a mistake and given himself to Melanthios’ mercy for it. There was not much more one could reasonably ask. It irked him that Hesperos seemed to have something buried in his chest he could not get at, though. He was his husband, too, not just his leader in battle.

Melanthios reached out for him and brushed his hand against his cheek. Hesperos looked up, surprise written all over his pale face.

“You collected your own punishment,” Melanthios said. “Next time, listen.”

“Yes.”

Melanthios tucked Hesperos’ head gently against his hip, holding him there for a moment before he stepped away.

“And I don’t want to see you up anytime soon,” he added as he walked to the door.

-

For the next two days, Hesperos did stay in his room, flat on his back with sheets hung before the windows. Melanthios had checked on him the first morning and almost woken him, so he decided to leave him alone for the time being, at least until his head had gotten a little better.

It was odd, in truth, how quickly he had gotten used to his presence and how big of a hole it left now that it was gone. They hardly ever spent more than a few hours together, often less. However, Hesperos’ attention at mealtime when Melanthios spoke of the day that had passed or was to come, and the quick kiss or talk in a hallway as they passed each other on the way to their duties was sorely missed; and the bed was cold next to him when he fell asleep. He wanted to hear more of what Hesperos thought of his new home and the rest of the soldiers, too, kept trying to imagine his comments on the tasks Melanthios found on his desk that he might have told him of. He wished for Hesperos to lean into his side when they ate supper in the rooftop garden on warm nights, overlooking the coming and going of ships. He missed him.

Late on the evening of the third day, there was a knock at the door of his private chambers. Melanthios, already in bed, laid aside a letter he had gotten from an administrator complaining about one of his colleagues and watched as it opened. Hesperos stood there, holding on to the frame.

“You aren’t supposed to walk on your foot.”

“I only walked across the yard,” Hesperos said defiantly as he glanced about the room.

“If you have need of me, you could have called a servant. You’re supposed to lie down.”

Hesperos hesitated just briefly before he ventured: “You have a bed here, too.”

Melanthios could not but smile. “If your head feels good enough, you may enter,” he said. “Since you are blackmailing me standing there on your broken ankle.”

For some reason, Hesperos looked as if he had not thought to be let in. Melanthios made room for him.

“You weren’t expecting anyone else?” Hesperos asked, sinking down on the bed.

“At this hour?” Melanthios gave back, raising a brow. “Unlikely. Even my administrators and the _gerousia_ do not think to bother me in my bedroom unless the city is burning.”

Hesperos set his jaw. “You can be honest with me,” he said quietly. “Your servants talk when they think I’m asleep.”

“Talk about what?” Melanthios asked, honestly confused.

“That you’d be happy to be able to call your lover into your bedroom again, since I was out of commission.”

It had never occurred to Melanthios that Hesperos would eventually hear about one in the army of his phantom lovers and take it seriously, perhaps because he had so long ago stopped to do anything but roll his eyes at the rumours. To a new spouse who had just quarrelled with his husband, however, they naturally had to be a good deal more disquieting.

Before he could speak, Hesperos inched closer. “I’m not angry,” he said, though his expression was a little too tight to make this believable. “I know you were not alone these years before our marriage and I’d understand if there were some pleasures you don’t want to set aside. But whatever it is they do for you – you know I am not shy. You could ask me.”

“You don’t even know what you’re asking,” Melanthios pointed out.

“No, and I don’t care. You want to beat me? You want me to tie you up? You want me to service you on my knees? Whatever it is, I’m not going to lose you.”

You could have thought he was declaring war, his voice was so grave.

“Hesperos, you are already my husband, there is no taking that from you,” Melanthios said, in an effort to calm him.

Hesperos glanced to the side. “Let me speak honestly to you,” he said, then, lifting his gaze. “You are a wise man and I know you’re aware that I courted you. You’ll know I considered my chances here better than at home. Yes, you are right to chastise me. I have already married you, how could I ask more?” He shook his head. “The truth is, I have grown fond of you, my king, very much so. And I know you did not marry me for my brains, we don’t have to lie about that, either. I’m a soldier, that’s all I’ve ever been, so much so it became my _name_. So when I noticed my leg was acting up, I was terrified you’d think I was slacking so shortly after our wedding – or worse, that I was about to lose one of the few true qualities I have. I did not think straight. I tried to ignore it for days, hoping it would go away, even still as you called me into battle. I put my fellow soldiers in danger by not telling anyone of it. In Kydonia, I’d be put at the feet of a statue of Oryx and whipped until my back bled for such an infraction and it would be just,” he spat, barely reining in his anger. “So if I cannot fight now and you have another lover, what do I have left to offer to make you like me? For now my foot is broken, but I can still prove myself in your bed,” he finished. “Put me to task.”

Melanthios took a moment to assess the man before him, stifling the sudden rush of shock and affection threatening to overwhelm his better senses. He called to mind how Hesperos had correctly guessed that even when he was making connections for himself, he’d still be put up against his siblings by his father. How, as all reports agreed, almost his whole life had been spent on one battlefield or another. He remembered what Hesperos had told him of Oryx, the goddess that remained only with the worthy. Yes, he was a soldier; he had always fought for recognition, honour, and a place.

But Melanthios had no intention of making his husband go to war for his favour.

“The next time you hear the servants speak of my lover, you should ask them who they are. I will guarantee you, within five minutes you’ll have heard of at least one man and one woman, a politician, a peasant, and a soldier,” he said, grasping Hesperos’ shoulder. “I remained alone for a long while and yes, I did take my pleasure here and there. It spurs people’s imagination. That is all.”

“Really?” Hesperos asked hesitantly.

“Yes. You are my only lover. And considering all the excuses you are ready to provide me with for not being faithful, what reason would I have to lie?”

Hesperos stared at him for a moment, but then lowered his head, looking contrite. “I apologise for offending you.”

“You didn’t.”

He pulled Hesperos into a kiss, slow, gentle, almost careful. Hesperos’ hands came up to his shoulders, grasping on tightly. When they parted, he looked happy for the first time in days. Melanthios could not help but smile in response. If Hesperos’ confession had not been so pained, it would have been perfect; but if it had been as perfect as his conduct had always been, Melanthios would probably not have believed him. He did now.

“Let me make it up to you,” Hesperos said eagerly, brushing his lips along Melanthios’ throat. “I will-”

“You said you’d do anything I want,” Melanthios interrupted. “Is that still true?”

“Yes,” Hesperos said without a hitch.

Melanthios ran his hand along Hesperos’ stomach.

“I want you to undress and lie on your back.”

Seconds later, the simply woollen chiton landed in a heap on the floor, though Hesperos moved a little less fluidly than usual with one foot still bandaged. He reclined on the bed, reaching up to Melanthios.

“What now?”

Melanthios took hold of one of his wrists and then the other, raising them both a little above the height of Hesperos’ head were it laid on the bed and placing them down on the pillow.

“Now you will keep your hands exactly where I put them. I want to see that you can follow orders.”

Hesperos’ expression changed a little, though only to bewilderment.

“I won’t be able to do much for you like this, my king.”

“Exactly,” Melanthios said with a smile as he leaned down and kissed him. “It’s my turn.” 

When Hesperos opened his mouth to protest, Melanthios covered it with his own once more, quickly and brashly.

“You said ‘anything’,” he reminded him again when they parted.

A brief smile worked its way on Hesperos face as he huffed. Melanthios took his head between his hands and pulled it gently up from the pillow, until their foreheads leaned together for a brief moment.

“I’d lie if I said I didn’t enjoy all your attention, since you have spoiled me with it,” Melanthios said calmly. “But you’ve succeeded in capturing my affections long ago.”

Hesperos’ eyes grew wide and there was a twitch around his mouth, a downwards turn that looked more desperate than anything else, as if his throat had closed up for just a moment; he quickly wiped the all-too-honest expression off his face in favour of a confident smile.

“My king...”

“Yes,” Melanthios said and kissed him again.

Hesperos’ mouth was still unbearably alluring to him, even after Hesperos had allowed him unfettered access for weeks now. His full lips yielded easily under his, tongue snaking out to greet Melanthios, so quick and nimble in his mouth. Melanthios dragged his thumb along his clean-shaven jaw. It was not the fashion in Elateia, but he found it suited the exquisite structure of Hesperos’ face of which he would not wish to hide an inch.

After lingering on his mouth for as long as pleased him, he let his lips wander down his throat, dragging his teeth over the sensitive skin. He could feel Hesperos swallowing and halted a moment before he turned his attention to the burn scar running from there to his shoulder. Hesperos would feel nothing there but a dull press, he imagined, with the flesh twisted and dead, but his breath picked up as he watched Melanthios explore the ruined skin while his hand ran through the dust of black hair on Hesperos’ chest before he grabbed a dark nipple and twisted it between his fingers. As Melanthios moved his head to take the other bud in his mouth, Hesperos twitched.

“Ticklish?” Melanthios asked, after swirling his tongue across the hard nipple.

Hesperos chuckled, a dark sound in the back of his throat.

“I just enjoy the way your beard feels,” he murmured. “I always liked the drag of it against my skin. I’ve daydreamed about feeling it between my thighs too often.”

Melanthios imagined it with a rush of lust, gliding his fingers down the muscular plane of his stomach to his hipbone.

“You are never truly shackled until you are also gagged, aren’t you?”

“Is that the next step?” Hesperos asked, somewhat breathless, as Melanthios worked his way further down his body, touching every scar on the way, following the thick ridges of muscle with his fingers, dipping his tongue into Hesperos’ navel.

“I like hearing you too much, as you well know. It’s a weakness you have exploited often enough,” Melanthios said, wrapping his hand around Hesperos’ hard cock.

“You won’t say I have nothing but words to offer, though, will you? If you’d let me show you…”

Melanthios laughed and leaned up to kiss him. “Hesperos,” he said, as he took hold of his thighs and parted them, then pulled them against his sides as he had shifted between his legs, “relax.”

Hesperos made a vaguely petulant noise against his lips, but Melanthios mouth seemed to distract him too much to really complain. His cock was pressing into Melanthios’ stomach and he twisted his hips a little, trying to get a bit more friction. Melanthios briefly considered flipping him onto his front, but realised it would leave his broken ankle at an uncomfortable angle. Instead, he moved backwards and lifted his legs over his shoulders. It shouldn’t be too painful, but at the same time, it allowed him to keep control over Hesperos’ body, and he liked that feeling.

As he lowered his head between Hesperos’ thighs, he made sure to let his bearded cheek brush against the sensitive skin there and was delighted to find Hesperos shiver in anticipation. What a beautiful position, Melanthios considered, as he pushed his mouth down over Hesperos’ cock, covering the base of it with one hand. His husband had such long legs, perfectly shaped with muscle, and the scars had only ever made every part of him more handsome.

“Oh gods,” Hesperos’ murmured, as Melanthios teased the head with his tongue. He could not perform tricks like his husband did, who seemed to live without a gag reflex, but he still knew how to please a man. Glancing up, he saw Hesperos’ hands tightening into fists on the pillow.

He sucked him firmly into his mouth, the flat of his tongue pressed against him, and watched the ripple of tension that went through his hard abdomen. Melanthios felt the aborted thrust upwards, an almost compulsive twitch that Hesperos caught before he could slip too far in. In his effort to keep still as Melanthios moved his head, his thighs snapped inwards, locking around Melanthios’ head for a moment before he realised what he was doing.

“My apologises,” he muttered.

Melanthios smiled as he pulled off with a last lap of his tongue.

“It’s not the worst spot in the world to be captured in,” he said, pushing up again for another kiss.

The low, rumbling laugh Hesperos gave ended breathlessly on Melanthios’ lips. He started to say something, tone almost imperative, but stopped halfway into the first word and kissed him harder.

“What is it?” Melanthios asked, leaning back.

Bound by his orders as he was, Hesperos could only lift his head to follow his movement, then had to give up chasing the kiss.

“I am at your disposal, my king.”

“Perhaps I would find it very gratifying to know what my husband desires from me for a change,” Melanthios pointed out.

It seemed to him like Hesperos, whose expression had become more honest as lust took hold of him, was weighing his options, deliberating, trying to gauge which way would make him most likely to please. Still, he had been told to follow orders tonight.

“I want you to fuck me,” he murmured, watching him from under half-lidded eyes. “I want your thick cock in me.”

Yes, he would very much like to hear Hesperos say what he wanted more often, Melanthios thought, as he shifted on the sheets. In fact, it was not hard to imagine right now that he’d be happy just fulfilling his every wish for the rest of their nights together if they came spoken like that.

He grabbed the small, earthen amphora of oil they kept by the bedside and pulled out the cork, dribbling a liberal amount on his fingers before placing it down open on the ground, since he knew he would need it again. Hesperos watched him with a small frown as he reached between his legs and prodded his entrance with one slippery finger.

“You don’t have to. I can take you, you know I can.”

Melanthios did. He didn’t doubt Hesperos even enjoyed it when he plunged himself down on Melanthios’ cock, even if he saw the hints of pain in his face when he did. Melanthios, too, loved taking him roughly, using every bit of the resilience Hesperos liked to flaunt. It was enjoyable to be ravenous and impatient, but it was not the only thing he liked. Besides, it occurred to him, he knew quite little of what his husband enjoyed, since Hesperos was always so clearly focused on finding all of Melanthios’ preferences.

“It’s not like I’ll be walking tomorrow, anyway,” Hesperos muttered.

Melanthios’ chuckled. He could feel that Hesperos was tighter around his one finger than he often was around his cock. He moved it gently, touching his soft insides.

“Why does this scare you?” he asked.

“I’m not scared,” Hesperos said immediately, bristling with pride. “I told you, you could do anything to me. You can carve your name into my chest if you’d like.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Melanthios said honestly. In fact, he was beginning to feel like Hesperos would prefer it. He understood pain. He knew how to prove himself. This, he did not seem to know. “Yet you’re fidgeting like a virgin on his wedding night.”

“I don’t understand what you’re doing,” Hesperos admitted after a moment. “You’re dragging this out. You want me to do something and I feel – I feel as I do when you take me to these debates. It’s some obscure Elateian riddle I am too daft to grasp.”

“I don’t want you to do anything at all,” he said. “I am perfectly satisfied with your attention and approval. But perhaps that is new for you?”

Hesperos looked at him for a long moment, then lifted his gaze from Melanthios’ face to the ceiling and grinned wryly.

“By the gods, my king, I have never known a man to dig so deep into me when he could have had his cock in there instead. I don’t know if I like it. It’s nothing worthy you uncover.”

“Is that so? I see a soldier’s mind – and that’s what you said you were. Always fighting. Such dedication is admirable. I just hope you’ll find _me_ worthy one day to feel at peace with me.”

“Oh, you-”

Hesperos gulped in air with the unspoken words.

“Come on, Hesperos, tell me like you would a soldier you had taken a tumble with in the tents,” Melanthios goaded. “What is it?”

“You _idiot_, you don’t know what it means to me that you chose me. I have never known peace like this. I love you, I cannot chance to lose you.”

Melanthios made a thoughtful noise against Hesperos’ throat, kissed his ear. The force of Hesperos’ words had sent Melanthios’ stomach flipping, but he was grateful for them all the same.

“You speculated before why I married you. It was for your strength in all things, your bright mind, your devotion, your wicked tongue, your easy laugh, your determination, as well as a hundred reasons more. Even should you lose use of your foot entirely, striking one quality would only serve to highlight another more, for I know you would not let it keep you down.”

Hesperos hid his face against Melanthios’ shoulder, kissed the skin there, a silent gesture of gratitude.

It was enough of serious speech for one night, Melanthios decided. He turned his head to kiss him and finally pushed two fingers into the tight heat of his body. It was an easier slide than it had been before and Hesperos shuddered, allowing his thighs to fall apart as Melanthios slowly explored the inside of him. His wrists laid lighter on the pillows now, twitching, but not struggling against the invisible band of Melanthios’ command.

He took his time to stretch him, caress him. When he stroked gently along that firm point inside him, massaged it carefully, Hesperos groaned in desperation. However, no pleading or teasing came. For now, he had surrendered himself completely to Melanthios’ power.

Melanthios pulled back his fingers and slicked himself up, Hesperos’ greedy gaze on him. He cradled his head to pull it up and kissed him again as he sank into his body, enamoured with the way Hesperos kept himself still because he’d been told to do so, full of tension like the string of a bow, yet perfectly behaved. After he’d lowered his head back onto the pillow, he let his hand trail slowly downwards, rubbing over his nipple as he rocked into him in short, hard thrusts, keeping his eyes on Hesperos’ face. Hesperos was flushed as far down as his heaving chest and unbelievably handsome. Melanthios used both hands now to move him to his devices, cant his hips to the best angle to fuck his willing body. When he drove all the way into him, keeping his backside off the bed, Hesperos’ body unstable and entirely in Melanthios’ hands, his husband was panting for breath.

He held this position for long moments, deeply enjoying the way Hesperos shivered in his grasp at every push, every minute change of the angle, and only let him drop down again when his own pleasure threatened to overwhelm him. However, he would not come first this time. Burying himself deep in Hesperos, he grabbed his cock and fisted it, his thrusts forceful, quick, and deep so Hesperos could feel all of Melanthios’ length in him. Hesperos stammered his name as he came and Melanthios did not stop until he grew soft in his grasp, his powerful body collapsing into the mattress. It only took Melanthios a few quick strokes inside him to bring himself to his peak.

After a moment of collecting himself, he slid out of Hesperos and made sure his broken food laid safely on a heap of blankets.

“You can move now,” he told him.

Hesperos’ arms flew up and wrapped around his shoulders. Melanthios allowed Hesperos to pull him down into a hug.

-

The city looked peaceful in the soft light of morning. Melanthios let his gaze wander over the rooftops high and low, broken clay and carefully carved stone, imagining his people going about the start of their day. Whenever the fight against the Forsaken seemed futile and endless, a picture like this in his mind was the best reason not to give up.

A hand reached up and offered him a grape. He plucked it from Hesperos’ fingers, smiling down where he had rested his head in his lap. It had already been a week since he’d gotten his foot hurt again, but Melanthios had only allowed him to leave the bed if Hesperos would agree to also lie down here, in the rooftop garden, which they both liked so much in rare quiet hours.

“Can you see if the soldiers are in the practice yard yet? I told the instructor he should wake his oldest group early to get them used to life in a camp.”

Melanthios smiled.

“There are people there, though I couldn’t tell you who from this distance. You can’t wait to join them again, can you?”

“I feel like I would be more useful if I did, but I won’t pretend that I don’t enjoy this more,” Hesperos said, feeding him another grape, smiling. “I could spend every morning like this.”

“I rank above swordplay in the mind of a Kydonian? You must really be smitten.”

“I hope you never doubt it, my king.”

Hesperos took the hand Melanthios had rested on his short hair and kissed it, then drew it down to his chest to massage his palm with his thumb. Melanthios had only once mentioned that his right hand, which he used for writing as well as to carry a spear, tended to cramp up sometimes, but Hesperos had always been good at remembering such details.

No, Melanthios could not doubt his affection anymore. Hesperos had always been most attentive towards him, but since that night when he’d stumbled into his room on his broken foot, he was looking at him like Melanthios had plucked all the stars from the heavens for him. He thanked both their patron goddesses for his good luck as he watched the sun rise in a perfect blue sky.


End file.
